


a life in pink

by vois



Series: miraluci pwp [2]
Category: Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu | The Legend of the Legendary Heroes
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vois/pseuds/vois
Summary: There is a sea of red in his existence, of course. There is the red of his lips and the blood he has spat, the red of his wounds and the place his arm was severed and then reconnected. But there is plenty of pink as well - the pink of an ostentatious rose garden in the heart of the palace, the pink of false antique tapestries and some noblewoman's dress, and lately...There is the blush that reaches down Miran's neck, and the blush that never goes any farther than Lucile's cheeks. There is the tongue that darts out to wet his lips, or his fingertips. There are the markings that they have both left, rings and raised lines that scarcely begin to fade before they are replaced.It might, he thinks, be... somewhat pretty.
Relationships: Lucile Eris/Miran Froaude
Series: miraluci pwp [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592449
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	a life in pink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idola/gifts).



_I need you_.

He does not say it. It is not even that he wants to say it; how could he, when it reveals such a weakness in him? When he would be flaunting such a vulnerability? It is not that he wants to say it, so how, then, and why, why has it come to the forefront of his mind?

Perhaps because he’s plenty vulnerable like this anyways.

Lucile has stripped only of his leggings. In contrast, Miran has found himself entirely bare. He does not even have his ring, for Lucile is holding it between his teeth. His hair has been pulled back and thus does not even cover any of his chest. He might actually find shame in some of this display, if only for how… ostentatious it is, in its utter lack of necessity.

It is Lucile that could not possibly be wounded, even if he were naked. If he did not desire it, he would not even be seen. It is Miran who is horribly, marvellously mortal, and if he were fully clothed while Lucile were not, even that could not balance the difference between them. The current circumstances only exaggerate it. It is disconcerting. It should be disturbing. But this is Lucile, so it is not. It is only... 

...Lucile has yet to touch him, and already he is hardening.

He wonders what it means, that neither of them find this surprising. Then Lucile settles above him, and he has no time for wondering. Miran only watches, trying not to hold his breath as he does, but due to Lucile’s robes, there is nothing to see. Even if he were undressed, this would be the same. To Miran’s… disappointment, Lucile does not take his cock inside him. Instead, he feels his tip slide against an unnaturally smooth expanse of skin - ah, right now there is nothing? - and then become trapped between Lucile’s thighs. 

Miran opens his mouth, but Lucile leans in close, nicking his cheek with the ring. Then he drops it on the pillow and returns to press his lips to the cut. It is absurdly chaste.

“Oh,” Lucile says, and Miran shivers at the way Lucile’s breath hits his cheek. “You’re blushing. All the way down… here,” Lucile says. His fingertips are featherlight as he trails them from Miran’s cheeks to his neck to...

Miran bites his lip and tries to refrain from overthinking. This is. This is nothing short of. Embarrassing? _This_ being Lucile’s palms pressed flat against his chest, rubbing and - and _pinching_ \- 

“...do you dislike it?” Lucile asks, pausing. “If so, my apologies.”

He doesn’t sound particularly sincere, but then again he sounds no different from how he does usually. Miran can appreciate that about him. Miran can appreciate many things about him, really. 

“It is acceptable,” Miran says, “only…”

“Only…?”

“I should like to reciprocate,” Miran says. Lucile shifts in a particular sort of way that suggests, if his eyes were open, he might have blinked. “Eventually.”

“Oh,” Lucile says, then, “I see.”

Miran cannot help but wonder if he does, or if that is something he is merely saying. Perhaps there is a third route here, one more extreme. He would have expected one of their earlier encounters to be the most surprising of the lot, but even after discovering the more intimate applications of Lucile’s shapeshifting… well. Lucile has always been so delightfully surprising. 

“You’re thinking so deeply,” Lucile says, amused, and Miran withdraws from his thoughts. “Oh, no, there’s no need for that. It’s always a pleasure to watch.”

“Is it so obvious?” That is somewhat concerning. Lucile graces him with a soft laugh as he pulls back - then _leans_ back, parting his legs slightly, before gesturing down at his body.

Ah. Mmh. That’s. That’s!

“You look so shocked,” Lucile teases. Because he is. Because before him, is. It’s his own cock, Miran _knows this_ , but with Lucile’s positioning and the front of his robe draped over it, draped over their legs, it looks as if the tent in that pristine white cloth is. Lucile’s. Not his. It’s something he’s never seen. It’s something he’s never even imagined. 

“I’ve thought it before,” Lucile says, voice cutting through his thoughts even if Miran can’t seem to tear his gaze away, “but you’re really quite…”

Miran watches, spellbound, as Lucile lowers the tip of one finger to the tip of - to _his_ tip -

He cannot keep himself from jolting, even at this touch. Even if it is just the barest hint of a touch. It shouldn’t come as such a surprise but somehow, despite the way Miran is staring, his mind doesn’t seem to register it as his. 

Lucile wraps the rest of his fingers around it, and Miran has to force himself to keep breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Shakily.

“...big. Mm.” Lucile’s brow furrows. Maybe if he was looking he would squint. Maybe if he was looking he would be just as transfixed. “Oh, but it seems you can grow harder yet? Maybe longer as well… haha. You twitched.”

Did he? It’s possible. But it’s hard to be certain when they’re like this. It’s hard to think. He’s beyond distracted, and of course it wouldn’t be necessary for Lucile to reduce him to this state before killing him, but certainly it would make it _easy_ , and - and Lucile is moving his hand, now, and - 

He finally manages to tear his eyes away, but only because his head falls back. As Lucile continues, Miran moans and finds himself jerking his knees up. Maybe it’s because he’s trying to lock himself in with the feeling, or maybe because he’d like to drag Lucile closer. This is Lucile’s game, however, so it hardly matters. There is a strangled sound as Miran’s arms give out - when did he sit up, exactly? - and he falls back to the bed. Lucile has never and likely will never make such a sound, so it can only have come from him. But it’s not so bad. It’s not so humiliating. Since it’s Lucile. Since it’s Lucile doing this to him.

“...come just yet,” Lucile is saying. “Didn’t you say you wanted to return the favor? You haven’t even touched me, and I should hope you intend to do far more than just touch me. Don’t you?”

Miran groans some sort of reply. It must be unsatisfactory, because Lucile presses down on him harder, heavier, as if a punishment. Because Lucile’s thighs tighten around him, as does his grip. Because he digs his - thumb? no, something else - into the tip, because his other hand is there and he is twisting his wrist, because ah ah _ah_ , ah _, fuck_ , the friction is - !

Lucile’s hands are dragging him to sin. Lucile’s weight is shifting on his hips. Lucile’s breath is hot on his ear. Lucile. Lucile. Lucile. The world seems to fold in on itself until everything meets here, in the two of them, with Lucile above, below, within - oh, he speaks. He speaks and Miran hears him, finally, _finally_. 

“...to me? Won’t you, Miran?”

“Of course,” Miran gasps, “Duke Eris, _anything_!"

Something lifts.

For lack of a better word, _everything_ lifts. Lucile’s weight. That burning sensation, the thundering in his ears, the heavy and thrilling air. He had not realized the extent of it. His desperation remains but it is alleviated, slightly, by Lucile’s face entering his gaze. He had not realized. He truly had not realized how much he had been feeling, until everything lifted…

Lucile’s lips are moving. Miran forces himself to push through the last dregs fogging his mind, to push himself close enough to hear.

“Somehow, you’ve already made a mess of me,” Lucile says, and lifts his robe. “And yet I have been left wanting… so what will you do, then?”

Miran opens his mouth. And then closes it, soundlessly. There are no words to describe Lucile Eris as he is right now. To comment on his state would be to insult him, for surely Miran can not do such a sight justice.

Miran’s cock is soft between Lucile’s thighs. Lucile’s marred thighs. For once, the skin is marked instead of smooth, but it only serves to make them more mesmerizing. Yes. Lucile’s skin, streaked with white, and his robe, stained with Miran’s weakness and lack of restraint, and in between. Oh. In between. 

Lucile’s cock is a pale and pretty thing. It’s small, compared to his, though if Lucile’s praise is any indication then that doesn’t particularly mean anything. 

Still. Even with Lucile seated upon his lap, rubbing their cocks together… even then. Lucile’s tip probably hadn’t extended past Miran’s by much, if at all.

Miran cups it carefully. Lucile sighs contentedly and leans their chests together as Miran begins massaging him.

He realized it earlier, of course. Only briefly, but he had realized it all the same. Before this day, Miran had never seen Lucile’s cock. As for the reasoning, well.

He is certain that Lucile knows of his circumstances, prior to becoming Marquess, but without Lucile’s own initiative Miran would never have known the extent of his shapeshifting. He had been willing, perhaps even eager, to lay with Lucile regardless. And despite what Lucile often teased, Miran had never analyzed his preferences for some deeper reasoning. If Lucile enjoyed possessing a cunt, complete with a hymen and... _other things_? Well, Miran certainly enjoyed filling it. And that was enough for the both of them.

Still, now that he has thought of it - he is glad. He is glad in being proven correct. That it was preference, and not pity. That none of it had ever been pity, despite Lucile Eris being so very extraordinary, and Miran being, at the end of the day, nothing more than human. Perhaps it meant something. It did not have to, for him to be content, but perhaps it could.

“...allow me.”

Lucile does blink at him, this time. It is a slight little flutter of his eyelids, but it is there nonetheless. He parts his legs with ease as Miran pulls him to the edge of the bed.

And then Miran settles on the floor. On his knees.

“I did say that I intended to reciprocate,” Miran says, in response to Lucile’s stunned silence.

“I thought you meant pinching my tits. Or sucking on them.”

“Oh.” Miran bites the inside of his cheek. It does not discourage his soft cock from trying, pathetically, to twitch. “...Is that what you were going to do to me?”

“If I say yes?” 

“I am quite adept with my mouth,” Miran states. Lucile’s shoulders shake with repressed laughter. “...yes, yes, you already know this.”

“Ordinarily, I’d suggest you prove it on my clit… but you have me quite excited already.” Lucile is toying with his tip as he speaks. Miran wonders how Lucile’s hands would look on his cock, without the layer of cloth in-between. Would it be like this? Would it be any more or less lovely? 

...his cock twitches again. He had not believed himself particularly given to distraction, before. But he had _also_ not been sleeping regularly with Lucile Eris, before. 

And Lucile’s hands are so very beautiful.

Miran leans forward and presses a kiss to both the tip of Lucile’s finger and the tip of his cock. He darts his tongue out, curling it around them before sliding it in between.

Above him, Lucile gasps softly.

He twists his tongue and sucks on Lucile’s fingers, briefly. This gets a lovely little _mmh_ , which is certainly very appealing, and another hand petting his face. He keeps at it for another few moments before Lucile hooks his fingers into the inside of Miran’s cheek. The ensuing flicker of pain is almost sweet, but then Lucile pulls his hand back. Both of them. 

And then, with one hand, begins unfastening the clasps of his robe. 

Miran pauses.

The other hand. The fingers that had been gouging into the soft flesh of his mouth. The fingers that could be glistening with Miran’s blood instead of his saliva if Lucile were not so very fond of teasing. They hover by Lucile’s lips as if he means to suck on them, to suck on the fingers that had just been in _his mouth_ \- 

“I wonder if this could be called an indirect kiss,” Lucile mutters. Then, more clearly, “Well? Don’t tell me…”

Miran lowers his eyes. And his mouth. He fits his hands around Lucile’s thighs and continues until Lucile stops letting out the occasional _mmh_ and starts moaning in earnest. Then he starts pulling back further, sometimes bringing his mouth off of Lucile’s cock entirely, and stealing glances upwards.

He wants to see Lucile’s face when he comes. If his eyes will fly open. If his pretty mouth will fall open or if he’ll be biting back a scream. He hasn’t had the opportunity thus far, with Lucile either curled against him and biting his shoulder or bent over beneath, but Miran would like to see it. With any luck, he'll be able to see it many times. Enough to lose count, hopefully.

Of course, the first thing Miran sees isn’t Lucile’s face but his hands. His fingers, actually, curled against his chest and twisting almost violently. His robe is only half open, the fabric pulled aside to expose only half his chest, and it’s far more erotic than if Lucile had stripped entirely. Miran’s spit has long since dried but it’s with that hand that Lucile is pinching and clawing and…

_And that is what Lucile wanted to do to me._

The thought has him inhaling deeply. His grip tightens, nails digging into Lucile’s skin - _maybe he’ll bleed_ \- and he moans around Lucile’s cock. The thought is far from enough, but the feeling? The feeling, yes, it is a luxury, and then Lucile is coming with a sharp gasp, spilling all over his tongue.

Miran usually swallows quickly, if he can, but isn’t this something to be savored? He pulls off of Lucile’s cock carefully, so as not to spill anything. It doesn’t particularly taste like anything, which is as strange as it is fitting, and certainly makes it easier to enjoy as he rolls his tongue in his mouth. 

“I would say you are far more than adept,” Lucile says as Miran lays down next to him. His voice is breathy. It’s lovely, much like his face would have been as he came. What a shame that Miran was too distracted, at the time, to see… but, well, the aftermath is always beautiful. And there will be other opportunities. 

Miran considers Lucile’s words. He considers his faintly flushed cheeks, and the lines rising on his thighs, the color nearly matching. He considers that voice, and whether or not he will eventually get to hear it scream. When Miran opens his mouth, it is not to speak. It is to let Lucile see - however it is he sees - the last drops of his own come, pooling on Miran’s tongue. 

...this shade of pink is deeper, closer to the welts on Lucile's thighs. It's nearly there, but not quite the same. 

It’s too bad that he has to swallow again before he can speak.

“Whenever it pleases you, Duke Eris… it would be my honor to demonstrate my abilities once more.”

“Just once?”

“That was not - again, whenever it pleases you.”

“Haha.” 

Lucile smiles at him. This time, he opens his eyes. He does not need to do this, Miran knows, not to see, so the meaning of this is…

_Perhaps you also have need of me?_


End file.
